


The Romanoff File

by magnetgirl



Category: Law & Order
Genre: F/M, Ripped From the Headlines, Various Law & Order Cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8857057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetgirl/pseuds/magnetgirl
Summary: EADA Cutter attempts to protect a teenage ballerina accused of being a Russian spy





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sandyk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandyk/gifts).



> my brother, my legal consultant, and many hours of SVU helped me write this

APARTMENT OF EADA MICHAEL CUTTER  
DECEMBER 12, 8:15 AM

 

“Why did I agree to this?” He tugged at his tie, undoing it to start over again. Mike claimed to be a pragmatist, not a perfectionist, but the tie would disagree.

Connie smiled over her coffee. “You’re a defender of innocence.”

Mike shot her a look. “I’m a prosecutor.”

“Fine, you’re a defender of truth.” He started to roll his eyes, but she continued. “And this girl is innocent.”

Mike still wanted to roll his eyes, but couldn’t hide his smile. Especially when she moved into his personal space to tame the uncooperative tie. “I miss you in second chair.”

Her eyes twinkled. “But then we couldn’t do this.” She leaned into a deep kiss, hands moving from the tie to his hair. He responded in kind, pulling her closer and away from the table. He started to hitch her dress up, but a quick glance at the clock told him --

“I’m late,” he murmured against her lips. He was due in court in less than an hour.  

She nodded, pushing him away, gently. “So am I.”

Mike frowned. “It’s Wednesday, you don’t start until noon.”

“I don’t.” Connie took a breath. “I’ve a doctor’s appointment.”

“Oh.” His frown deepened.

“To confirm my pregnancy.”

Mike stared, speechless. He prided himself on being prepared for anything but -- he wasn’t prepared for that.

“...Connie. Do you-- I -- when --” he stuttered, adorably, she thought, though she kept it to herself. He glanced at the clock again. “I have…”

“You have to go to court,” she finished, placing a finger to his lips. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. Or I’ll come by the courthouse. Okay?”

He nodded. “...Okay.” But he didn’t move. Connie gave him another gentle push.

“Go.” Still he didn’t move.

“I love you.”

She glowed. “Knock ‘em dead.”

 

MANHATTAN SUPERIOR COURT  
DECEMBER 12 1:13 PM

 

She slipped into the courtroom just as the break was ending. Mike was only able to meet her eyes -- see her smile -- before --

“Excuse me, Yelena Vadimov?”

Mike turned at the voice, flat, unfamiliar, and menacing. “Who are you?”

“Special Agent Brandon Garland, FBI Counterintelligence. I’m here to take Miss Vadimov into custody.”

“What?” Mike shook his head, in disagreement, confusion, and if he was honest, panic. The jury was filing in as they spoke. He waved at the bailiff. “She’s taking the stand. Now.”

“I’m sorry this is a matter of national security.”

“Sir?” the bailiff asked.

“Get Judge Mahoney. I need to speak with her immediately.” The man nodded and headed out swiftly. Cutter turned back to the FBI agent. “You can’t take my witness.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Cutter, we can.” He handed over a warrant to detain.

“What’s going on?”

“Your honor, we have a situation. May we speak in chambers?”

Mahoney frowned. “The trial is supposed to be resuming.”

“Ma’am, I have a warrant for this witness.”

“Your honor--”

She raised a hand to silence them both. “Bailiff, escort the jury back to their room.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The room was abuzz as the jury was sent back out. Mike saw Connie’s concern out of the corner of his eye -- and echoed tenfold in the jurors.

The judge gestured to both attorneys and the FBI agent. “Approach. All of you.”

“Your honor, are we in session?” Cutter asked in a low voice.

“I assume you want to request a mistrial?” Mike nodded, pained. “Hold that thought.” She nodded to Garland. “You have a warrant for the State’s witness?”

“Miss Vadimov is a person of interest in the investigation of Russian interference in the presidential election.”

Mike’s mouth dropped open. “That’s ridiculous.”

“We have reason to believe Miss Vadimov is a Russian spy with connections to--”

“Your honor this is a plot to discredit my witness--”

The judge raised her hand. “Do you have anything to back up these allegations?”

Garland nodded, indicating a red manila folder in his hand. “Yes, your honor, as well as proof DA Cutter is aware--”

Mike started. “What?!” 

“--and is conspiring with the Clinton campaign to bury it.”

Cutter stared, momentarily speechless. The defense attorney was smiling like a devil, saying something about due process. Mike shook his head. “Your honor,” he started, not entirely certain how he’d finish. But the judge shook her head.

“In chambers. Now.”

“Judge, may I have five minutes to consult with my client?” Buchanon sneered, near to bursting at the unexpected windfall.

“Yes,” she nodded, “But don’t spread rumors. I’ll know where it came from.” Buchanon raised his hands in acquiescence and made his way to the defense table. Cutter returned to Yelena.

“I’m being arrested again?” she asked in a panic.

“Detained for questioning,” Mike corrected, waving Lupo and Connie over from the gallery. “And not if I can help it.” He gave her shoulder a supportive squeeze before turning to include the others. “Now, Detective Lupo is going to stay with you until I’m back. If you want anything -- coffee, water, need to use the restroom, just ask Ms. Rubirosa. Okay?”

Yelena nodded, still spooked, but trying to remain calm.

“Don’t let anybody approach her,” Mike murmured to Cyrus as he made his way towards the judge’s chambers. “No matter who they say they are.”

“Got it, boss.” Lupo moved to stand with Yelena, and strike up a conversation to distract her.

“Mike, what’s going on?” Connie asked, her eyes flickering with worry.

“I don’t know,” Mike answered softly. “Nothing good.” She pressed his hand in support, a tiny gesture, but all they had time for. Mike flashed her a small look of gratitude before following Buchanon and Garland into Judge Mahoney’s room.

 

CHAMBERS OF JUDGE ALBERTA MAHONEY  
DECEMBER 12 1:37 PM

 

“Your honor these allegations are baseless--” Mike started as soon as they closed the door.

She raised a hand to hush him again. “Sit down, gentlemen.”  The three men acquiesced, the FBI agent in between the two attorneys. “Mr. Garland, explain.”

“Your honor, Miss Vadimov is a Russian national who travels the world with the Moscow Ballet.”

“That’s hardly a crime,” Mike interjected.

“In her guise as a ballerina--”

“Her _guise_?”

Garland ignored him, addressing only the judge. “She attends numerous gala events alongside international businessmen, government officials,” he placed photographs of Yelena and a variety of men, and the occasional woman,  on Mahoney’s desk, “Even members of congress and heads of state.”

“Also not a crime.”

Mike heard the edge in his own voice, but he had trouble controlling it. Garland was adding more pictures. Buchanon was practically salivating. This was a train wreck.

“She maintains a public Instagram account.”

Cutter picked up one of the pages -- a selection of artsy photographs featuring ballet shoes and kittens. “So does every teenage girl in the world,” he argued.

Garland continued undaunted. “Where we believe she posts coded messages to the Russian--”

Mike threw up his hands in disbelief. “Your honor, this is insane! Mr. Garland has clearly watched too many movies.” 

Judge Mahoney pursed her lips. “Mr. Garland, it does seem rather circumstantial.”

“Your honor, we only want to talk to her.”

“She is my key witness,” Cutter stressed. It was probably already too late for this jury; if he had to go to a new trial without Yelena he was sunk.

“Conveniently,” interjected Garland, finally acknowledging Mike had been speaking at all.

“I don’t have to justify my --”

The judge raised her hands, and voice, “Mr. Cutter.” He sat back in his chair, fuming. “Mr. Garland, you indicated you have evidence against the ADA. Please, be clear -- and careful.”

“Your honor, Mr. Cutter has been in close contact with a member of the DOJ intelligence office throughout trial prep.” Mike blinked. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in Intelligence since the Summer barbecue. Well, except-- “She’s in the courtroom right now.”

Mike shook his head. “...Connie?”

Garland nodded. “Consuela Rubirosa. Yes.”

Cutter found himself speechless, again. Third time today, some kind of record.  

“Mr. Cutter, is this true?”

Mike turned to Judge Mahoney and took a long, slow, deliberate breath. “Ms. Rubirosa’s presence in the courtroom has nothing -- whatsoever -- to do with her position in counterintelligence.”

Garland crossed his arms. Buchanon attempted to swallow his glee. Mahoney waited for an answer.

“We. She’s my.” Another breath. “We’re involved personally.”

“I see,” said Mahoney.

“It’s not a secret,” he explained, not that it was anyone’s business. “Or we wouldn’t have been seen together.”

“Just like you were _seen_ campaigning for Hillary Clinton,” continued Garland.

Cutter shook his head. This was unreal. “I know Hillary. I worked for her. And yes, I campaigned for her -- as is my right as an American citizen!”

“When was the last time you spoke to Secretary Clinton?”

“Election night.”

“Really. You must be close.”

Mike’s head was pounding. The day was spiraling out of control. How did they get here? “It was very brief. Maybe two words.”

“Have you discussed this case with her?” asked Garland.

“No! Aren’t the Russian hackers on the other side anyway?”

Garland raised an eyebrow. “If you have any information to contribute to the investigation…”

Mike turned to him, fuming. “No.”

“Okay. Have you discussed this case with Ms. Rubirosa?”

“I have never broken confidentiality--”

Garland raised open hands, mimicking the judge. “Generally.” He shrugged. Cutter wanted to punch his smug face. “Over … coffee.”

“That - is - not - a - crime,” Cutter answered, stressing each word.

“So yes.”

Mike addressed the judge. “Your honor this is a paranoid fishing expedition.”

Garland smiled, secure in his superiority. “I don’t need to fish.” He met Cutter’s eyes directly.  “You have admitted close, 'personal', ties to a member of the Department of Justice's Intelligence unit. You have worked directly with Secretary Clinton, on and off, since her days as Senator of New York. And as Ms. Rubirosa was previously your subordinate for years, there is a clear precedent that you are not above crossing lines.”

“That is outrageous--” Mike leapt out of his chair, shaking. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to hit the man.

“Mr. Cutter,” Mahoney’s voice cut through the tension. “Sit down.” He did, crossed his arms, and glared at the wall behind the judge. “How long will the interrogation take, Mr. Garland?

He leaned back, exuding confidence. “We can’t be sure.”

Buchanon jumped in. “The defendant is entitled to a speedy trial.”

Garland shrugged again. “Your honor, national security cannot be rushed.”

“Unbelievable,” Mike scoffed, still shaking.

Mahoney looked at each man in turn before straightening. “Given the severity of these allegations and in the interests of national security, I’ve no choice but to allow the detention, and declare a mistrial. You may collect Miss Vadimov, Special Agent Garland.”

Buchanon shook Garland’s hand before heading off to give his client the good news. 

Mike knew he had to stand up. Go into the courtroom. Tell Yelena he’d figure something out. Get her help. Give her hope even if his own was out of reach. But first he had to stand up.  

Judge Mahoney was watching him with something resembling pity. He hated her.

“Your honor--”

“Mr. Cutter, I suggest you speak with a lawyer. One you’re not personally involved with.”

 

MANHATTAN SUPERIOR COURT  
DECEMBER 12 3:29 PM

 

“Thanks, Alex.” Cutter handed over the thick folder he’d had at trial, and a signed waiver for the rest. Cabot hugged the file to her chest as she, Cutter, and Rubirosa watched Garland lead Yelena away. The girl looked back once before turning the corner, head held high, hands clasped tight, toes pointed. She was the picture of poise, but her eyes were bright with fear.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“Just help her,” Mike implored. “She’s not even a pawn, she’s innocent.”

Alex nodded. “I’ll be in touch.” With a last brush of her fingers to his arm -- in solidarity, support, friendship as odd as it sometimes felt -- she walked off to study the new case.

Connie leaned into Mike’s shoulder. They were finally alone -- as alone as they could be in the middle of the courthouse anyway. “I told you you’re the defender of innocence.”

Mike just shook his head. He’d failed to protect Yelena, Connie… somehow even Hillary was implicated in this mess. And for what? The trial was reset, and the villain was home with his family, while the victims multiply.

“Hey.” Connie placed her hands on his cheeks and forced him to look at her. “Alex is great at her job. Cyrus and Benson are already working on this. There’s a whole team.”  Her eyes were lit up with all the fire that had abandoned him. They were beautiful as usual. “They’re going to free Yelena and they’re going to protect her. And then you can finish this.”

He shook his head again. “I’ve already called it in. When --if the trial goes forward, someone else will prosecute. I’m damaged goods.”

Connie pulled her lips in over her teeth. She knew how much it hurt him to give up no matter what the circumstances. She leaned in, drew him into an embrace. “At least we don’t have to hide anymore.”

“We weren’t hiding,” he argued. She raised an eyebrow. “Maintaining privacy isn’t hiding.”

“‘Maintaining privacy’,” she repeated, laughter in her voice. He started to rebuff, but quietly joined in the laughter instead. “It’ll be all too obvious soon enough.”

Mike grinned, suddenly, at the reminder the day wasn’t a complete disaster. Part of him thought it was the worst possible time to bring a child into the world. But another part of him was more committed than ever to making the world better, and safer, for their children. And now, amazingly, for _their child_.  “When’s your next appointment?”

“Two weeks.”

“I want to come.”

Connie smiled. “You better.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's a girl, they name her Jackie.


End file.
